


a night like many others

by Nacht



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacht/pseuds/Nacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon and Maedhros engage in pillow talk, or at least something resembling it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a night like many others

In the sparse light of the rising moon Maedhros’ hair appeared almost black where the shorn ends wrapped around his neck.

His skin was not the smooth plain now that it had once been. His back was marred with scars and patches of discoloration, tissues knitted together under the natural hand of slow healing to form ridges and whorls across the staircase of his vertebrae and the net of his ribs.

He was patched together rather than perfect, but Fingon still found him beautiful.

He shifted on the blankets.

His chest was pressed against Maedhros’ side, and after a moment he could not resist the urge to sweep his palm down the center of his back. His callouses caught several times, but Maedhros did not seem to mind.

He let out a soft hum, and Fingon stared at him in wonder.

He felt at times such as these that there was no hope of containing the love that strangled him. It overwhelmed his heart and threatened to spill out over all of his actions. It was a feeling that had chased him from the distant shores of Aman to the highest mountains of Middle-earth.

It was a wondrous love but also a terrible one, and Fingon feared he was not strong enough to deserve it.

He swallowed.

“I want all of you,” he said in a rushing whisper.

Maedhros frowned.

The corners of his lips twitched as well as his cheek where it was prone to dimple, and he said, “I don’t have all of myself to give.”

He made as though to turn over, his muscles coiling in preparation of movement, but Fingon stilled him with a slight tightening of his fingers against the base of his spine.

Fingon leaned forward, and kissed Maedhros on the side of his neck. His nose tickled his ear as he answered, “I know.”

He smiled, and added, “I can accept that I won’t ever get what I want.”

He stroked his hand lower, and Maedhros arched up into his touch even as a wounded growl rose in his throat that hurt Fingon’s heart to hear.

He licked his lips.

“I can’t give you myself in return now anyway.” His previous smile turned bitter from the ache in his chest. “I’m the High King. I belong to too many.”

He traced his thumb over a jagged line of scar tissue as he smoothed his hand over the curve of Maedhros’ ass and across the tops of his thighs. His lips pressed another soft kiss to the skin underneath Maedhros’ ear.

His breath felt tight in his chest.

Maedhros growled again, even lower in his throat.

“I belong to one thing,” he said, and his voice came out harsh and raw when he spoke, tinged with an anger that was not entirely his own. It made his eyes burn with an unnatural light. “I am afraid that I will belong to it forever.”

Fingon shivered.

That was not what he wanted to hear.

It seemed to him as though all of their most intimate conversations now were doomed to descend into directions which did nothing but sting the both of them. It made him mourn for the happiness and ease which had forsaken them long ago.

His fingers tightened across the outside of Maedhros’ thigh, but he also made to pull back, shifting in order to separate them, in the same moment. 

Maedhros grabbed his arm.

He froze.

His fingers twitched. His lips were still poised mere inches above Maedhros’ temple, and Maedhros’ eyes still burned.

Fingon did not flinch from them.

He never would.

He waited, and Maedhros said, his grip like iron, “I wasn’t finished.”

His voice was no longer raw. It was controlled and precise but filled with unspoken passion, and a warmth that was absent before. His lips were set in a fine line, and Fingon found himself leaning over him, straining for him as he studied him.

Maedhros held him fast.

“If you want me,” he said, more warmth flooding his voice even as the searing fire in his eyes faded back into gently sparkling embers. “Then you shall have to steal me.”

There was a moment where Fingon stared at him in confusion. Then, all of a sudden, he smiled and began to laugh. The sound cut through the lingering darkness, and the room itself seemed lighter for it.

Maedhros’ cheek dimpled.

“I will happily steal you for myself whenever I am able, and I expect you to do the same for me,” Fingon said.

He leaned closer, happiness and relief still washing over him, and reached out with his free hand.

His fingers tangled into Maedhros’ short hair and pushed it from his face, tracing over his cheekbone and the line of his jaw, touching the damaged point of his ear where some of the cartilage was missing. He pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Maedhros returned it, allowing their months to linger together.

“I love you,” Fingon whispered, eyes closed.

Maedhros’ lips parted, and his tongue darted out. He drew Fingon into another kiss moments later which was deeper and more complicated, wet and passionate, and a tendril of anticipation and excitement uncurled in Fingon's chest even as he relaxed into it.

He grinned against Maedhros’ mouth, and Maedhros pulled him closer.


End file.
